


and it's been a long time due, love

by goreallegore



Series: lifetimes ago, and i'm still yours [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:47:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5440628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goreallegore/pseuds/goreallegore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sky outside is dark, hues of midnight blue dusting over the small town, wonders if the clouds are always this inky this time round, makes a mental note.</p><p>“Sure,” the boy answers breaking Harry’s trance. It’s so easy to drop mid-conversation and be distracted by minuscule things that it doesn’t even come as a shock to his other friends. Niall doesn’t know that, Harry should apologize.</p><p>Or; Harry's been in love once, and now twice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and it's been a long time due, love

**Author's Note:**

> i love writing this verse completely self-indulgent
> 
> come talk to me about a lovesick harry @ niallohmighty.tumblr.com

Harry thought he had given up, after spending three lifetimes looking for his lost love he had called it quits – his heart suffering heartbreak after heartbreak. But under the dim lighting of an out-of-the-way pub, he met the same pair of blue eyes that had made his heart race all those years ago. The bartender was laughing at something the customer had said, his entire body reverberating with pure joy, a faint rosy color scattered across his cheeks – it was odd seeing someone exuding happiness in its literal form. Harry didn’t know it was possible but if he was ever asked what ‘ _happiness_ ’ looked like he’d describe the scene before him. He’d talk about cheap bar, late nights, and beautiful bartenders who had a laugh that could brighten up not only his but anyone else’s day. In fact, the customer that he was talking to had a very gloomy air surrounding him –  _cue bartender_.

He feels a tap on his shoulder, “mate, ready to leave?” Louis had brought him out to cheer him up but disappeared about half an hour ago to attend a call from his girlfriend – Jill was her name, Harry thinks. As a result, their fun night out turned into a screaming match between his best mate and his girl, a half empty glass of beer and a broken jukebox playing an 80’s tunes on repeat. “Soz, I left you alone. Didn’t really help with your depressed vibes, eh?”

Harry shoots him a smile before looking over his shoulder and asking, “You know who that is?”

“Oh, Niall! I see he’s caught your eye too?” Louis inquires, raising his eyebrow, “He’s the lad Liam can’t shut up about. Why?”

Liam his best mate. Liam his mate from school. Harry’s best mate likes the love of Harry’s life. Harry should let it go, Harry shouldn’t even dwell on the possibility of it being  _him_ , he should go home, sleep it – whatever  _it_  is – off and not think about it ever ag –

“Oi, Louis! Didn’t see ya there! Where have you been all night?” the stranger speaks, in his thick lilting Irish accent. It shouldn’t send shiver down Harry’s spine, but it does.

Louis and him exchange a few words, –  _Niall_ , Harry learns his name – before he leaves to attend to a customer. Louis faces Harry once again, taking in his friend’s expression, “What?”

“Tell Liam to find someone else.”

“What?” Louis must have a hearing problem if he didn’t hear Harry the first time.

Harry walks out of the pub without another word.

\--

“And what makes this time different than all the other times?” Louis asks, undoing the wrapper to his Popsicle, it’s summer and the heat wave is stronger than ever so the boys have opted to have a quiet day at the pool – Harry’s pool to be exact. Something about _you have the nicest bachelor pad out of all of us_ , Louis had said.

“Well, he will be able to see me in all my cloth- _less_  glory,” Harry smiles, dabbing a good amount of sunscreen on his arms, “that should change his mind.”

“Right. I forgot nudity was the key to finding your soulmate,” Louis jests, placing a hand on his chest dramatically.

“Shut up, you’ll see.”

**1888**

Growing up, Harry heard different stories from his Gran about falling in love and living a life with your better half, stories where the boy would sneak out with the girl at quiet hours of the night, hands intertwined ascending into the high of their feelings and the thrill of secrecy. Growing up, he learned about marriage, about a man and woman tying the knot in front of god, taking vows and swearing to love one another till death does them apart. But what Harry wasn’t told was how clammy his hands will get, how his heart will flutter at the sound of their name, how his ears will burn in their presence and how maybe –  _just maybe_ – it’s okay for them to not be a girl.

The first time Harry realizes it, is when they skip Sunday mass, it’s a tradition where their families attend mass together, dressed in their nicest clothes, ready to rejoice in the services held by the local church. Today though, Niall decides that he doesn’t want to attend mass, that he doesn’t want to sit through an hour of being stuck in a perfectly ironed button up and slacks, instead he wants to run down to the lake and dip his feet in the cold water – but most of all, he wants Harry by _his_  side.

“We’ll get in trouble,” Harry notes, climbing down the rocky hill and settling his things near the water.

“Don’t worry, Haz, trust  _me_ ,” Niall smiles, and it sort of brightens under the sunlight, his hair glistening and his pearly-whites sparkling. And Harry doesn’t know if 12 year olds should have their heart racing so fast at the sight of their best friends, but what he does know is that his chest is warm and the summer heat has nothing to do with it. “You trust me, _right_?” Niall asks, his eyes hopeful and his voice steady.

Harry nods in confirmation.  _With everything_ , he thinks.

**Present day**

“Lemonade?” a familiar voice snaps Harry out of his day dream, he pulls up his sunglasses, carefully placing them on his head and graciously accepting the yellowish liquid.

A  _‘thanks’_  is at the tip of his tongue when Niall speaks up, “didn’t wanna swim?” He takes a seat beside Harry, abandoning his very comfortable spot in Liam’s arms - a place where he had spent most of his afternoon.

“Nah, feel like I’d get in the way,” the words don’t even make sense. He is ready to explain himself but Niall has him beat, “even if I ask you to? With me?”

Blue has a variety of shades, from azure to royal, though even after years of searching and slaving Harry wasn’t able to find the one before him. Gold specks sprinkled across the serene blue, pulling together to form a shade that takes Harry’s breath away. Electric eyes that make Harry’s skin crawl, the way they just seem to sear into his soul and make all the time spent waiting trivial. So,  _trivial_.

“Alright,” he agrees.  _Anywhere with you_ , Harry thinks.

\--

Harry wakes up to the sound of someone moving about in the kitchen, can hear the soft whistling of the kettle. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, leaning on his palms and lifting himself from the couch. He can see a dark silhouette navigating itself around the confined space, a hand reaching into the closet where Liam and Harry store their tea. Harry plants his feet on the ground, now awake and craving a cup of tea himself.

“Mind pouring me a cuppa too?” Harry voices, his words coming out rough. The figure jerks at the sudden request. Harry wonders if they hadn’t noticed him taking a kip on the couch.

The sky outside is dark, hues of midnight blue dusting over the small town, wonders if the clouds are always this inky this time round, makes a mental note.

“Sure,” the boy answers breaking Harry’s trance. It’s so easy to drop mid-conversation and be distracted by minuscule things that it doesn’t even come as a shock to his other friends. Niall doesn’t know that, Harry should apologize.

“What has you up?” instead he asks.

Niall flicks on the overhead light, the room brightening up considerably, as Harry’s eyes adjust to the change. He blearily looks at the soft blonde hair lying on the boy’s forehead, the fringe accentuating the powder blue of his eyes. Harry can’t help but trace his face, eyes following each delicate feature landing on his mouth. His lips look dry yet they are shining under the dull light. Harry wants to rub his thumb over them.

“Am an insomniac. Been havin’ nightmares since I was a wee little kid. Kinda stuck,” Niall shrugs, nonchalantly. He does that, gives a piece and takes away two, makes one think that he’s fine yet not at the same time. Makes Harry’s skin crawl. Uncomfortably at that.

Harry doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t really know what to. The small father clock Louis had insisted on them buying goes gong, the silence that much more noticeable, the crick of the sofa and the choppy tune of the kettle washing over them.

Niall’s leaning against the marble counter, his hands folded over his chest, looking out from the attached kitchen.

“What are they about?” Harry asks, his nosiness apparent.

He can see the twitch to Niall’s lips, can see a small smile he’s subduing like he was expecting this – Harry wants to jump ahead and say ‘ _you don’t need to answer’_  but something has him stuck. Honey like feelings making his words come to too slow and languid.

“A boy,” Niall speaks up, his shoulders stiffening a little, “a curly haired boy.”

Harry has to try to not choke on his saliva. Try not to let his lungs burst from the air that’s filling them, on and on.

“A boy,” Harry repeats.

 

\--

 

**1894**

Niall’s lighting up another cigarette, the previous one already discarded on to the concrete pavement, ashes smeared into the small cracks forming a wavy line, when Harry walks up to him. He’s holding a bouquet of flowers, an assortment of peonies in different colors – his mum’s favorite.

“You promised you won’t,” Harry comments. They’re standing in Harry’s backyard behind the shed where his father keeps all his tools – says a man should know how to tell apart a wrench from a screwdriver. Harry doesn’t know why it’s necessary to his manhood but he needs to know; so he does.

“I, also, said I’ll help with Lydia’s do. You don’t see me doing that,” Niall replies unfazed by Harry’s very apparent dislike of smoke. Recently it’s like one of them trends where everyone does it, his Father, his mother, even the old man from the corner store. It can’t possibly good, Harry thinks. Besides it smells bad and makes him cough.

“Maura is mad at you. You told her you’ll help figure out the food and the budget and we still don’t have that sorted. Niall the wedding’s on Saturday and there is family already here,” he sighs, frustrated.  

It’s spring and the sky has cleared up and the trees are green again and it’s just  _pretty_. Harry loves spring reminds him of the creek in the outback of Grandma Shelly’s farm and how he and Niall always swam in it. Thinks how 12 year old him had it simpler.

Niall nods barely keeping up with Harry’s words, puffing his chest the slightest when the smoke bellows out of his mouth, his lips rounding out a smidge – soft and pink. Harry wants rub his thumb over them, wants to know how they feel under the rough pad of his thumb, and possibly press his own to Niall’s.

He shakes himself out of the daydream, “those birds who think you’re fit and sexy while smoking are brainless.” He’s aware his words are bitter and petty but mostly he’s jealous. Jealous that Niall has been smoking to pull girls in, jealous that he wears the nice jacket with the leather and fur lining – that mind you, Anne had gifted him – only when they go to one of Louis’ do’s, jealous that those girls  _do_  fall for Niall. They’re not brainless. They have eyes and the liberty to act upon their racing hearts.

Harry doesn’t.

“Not everyone gets to go to them big named schools, Styles,” Niall claims. “Not everyone has the  _money_  to.”

Harry feels a pang of guilt knowing that he’s starting Uni this fall when Niall isn’t, thinks it’s not fair that his fathers’ got a good job and pay when Niall’s Da has to work day and night to make ends meet. A disconcerting wave washes over him and he bites his tongue wishing that he could stop flaunting his  _haves_  but it’s not even him, it's not him doing it on purpose. It’s there and he can’t erase it.

Harry resigns into himself, switching his weight from one foot to the other. He ducks his head afraid to look into Niall’s eyes, they’re clear and blue and honest. Make Harry feel exposed and vulnerable something he’s not used to – or hasn’t been for a while. He whispers, barely audible to his own ears, “you don’t want them liking you for that. For a cigarette.”

Niall drops the small yellow-white stick onto the ground, stomping over the burned out tobacco and ducks his head to look at Harry’s face. He has his hands clasped together behind his back and is leaning forward trying to read the younger boy’s face, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Jealous, Styles?”

There’s too much of Niall, his smoky breath, his inherent musk, and the fading dab of cologne he knows he stole off of his Da, it’s too much. Everywhere. Harry stumbles backwards, the flowers still tight in his hold, a blush creeping up his neck when he notices Niall’s smirk. His eyes are gleaming under the pale sunlight filtering through the tree leaves awning over them, falling from the other side of the fence casting a shadow.

“Fuck off, why would I care?” Harry staggers, turning around determined to march back into the house when calloused fingers wrap around his wrist tightly. Firmly. And pull him in. He twirls, rather startlingly, into Niall’s chest the flowers now long forgotten on the pavement outside the shed. His hands flat against the blonde’s solid chest, he can feel the taut muscles under his palms, setting his fingertips ablaze. They haven’t been this close in ages.

Niall is looking at him steadily, intently, his eyes clear of the always running joke that seems to press happiness into his gaze. He looks serious making Harry’s breath hitch. They’re out pressed against one another in clear daylight, vulnerable to people’s eyes and ears, when Niall confesses softly, “I only have eyes for  _you_.”

**Present**

Harry is fixed on the couch unable to move at Niall’s confession, “Do you know the boy?”

He gulps around his words, the sentence heavy and thick, the air muggy. “I think I did,” Niall replies.

**Author's Note:**

> leave comments kudos and all that jazz.


End file.
